


From the Pages of a Book Thief

by danigoldaron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, BAMF Hermione Granger, Canon Compliant, Changes after 4th year, Dark, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Draco is orphaned, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry Dies, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Spy Severus Snape, hermione is hidden, under The protection of Snape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 00:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30012975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danigoldaron/pseuds/danigoldaron
Summary: Harry is killed in his Duel with Voldemort in the Graveyard after the Triwizard Tournament. Three years later and the world looks much different. The order has been hunted to extinction. Voldemort’s supporters are everywhere.Draco’s parents were killed at the beginning of the war when the order attacked the manor where they suspected Voldemort was staying. Ever since then Draco has lived with Severus Snape, who made an Unbreakable Vow with his mother before her death that he would protect Draco from harm.He just finished his seventh year and has just taken the Dark Mark, intent on revenge for his parent’s death, when Snape comes home and is carrying an unconscious Hermione Granger. He’s rambling about hiding her and keeping her safe. Something about the order and payment for a debt. In her hands is a book, forbidden by Voldemort as propaganda. A History of Magic.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	From the Pages of a Book Thief

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
> 
> Characters in the story are not mine, they belong to J.K. Rowling 
> 
> **Important**  
>  First:As of right now my planing has the book being written in several _acts_ if you will. Each act will switch POV between Draco and Hermione starting with Draco. So chapters will be named for their acts and then the scene will correlate with the chapter within that act, with not necessarily just one scene per chapter.  
> Second: This is going to be dark. I’m warning you if you don’t like dark fics I will not be sad if you choose not to read this. I’d be more sad if you did chose to read it and then blamed me for it being to dark. These aren’t always everyone’s cup of tea  
> Third: I do not have set a posting day for this fic yet. I will update this once I do. I am currently wrapping up another fic and a rewrite so it might take me a week or two to figure out the best day for me to post. Probably Sundays honestly
> 
> Last but not least, Please enjoy this fic I know I’m truly enjoying writing it. I would love any feedback or comments you have. It warms the dark cackles of my heart and sometimes it convinces me not to kill off beloved characters.

Draco walked along the rough cobblestones, the gloomy grey of the buildings around him were the brightest thing in his vision. The world was certainly devoid of color except for the green and black flags that hung above the doorway of every building down the slim alleyway. But just because the flags were as green as the forest did not make them bright. 

Certainly bright was the wrong word for the emerald and white that contrasted so starkly with the black insignia on those flags. A skull, its mouth open wide as a snake slithered out of it, down and out. It twisted around and around before going back into the mouth of the skull that birthed it.

The same image that had been branded on his arm only hours earlier. 

Draco clenched his briefcase tighter in his hand as he stepped past an open door. The wood swung on its hinges as the wind pulled it to and fro. Inside, furniture was strewn about on the ground. Dried blood splattered on the walls, and a hand, a hand was just visible on the ground next to the stairs. 

No one else but he walked along the street, the gray overcast sky further darkened the aura of the path he walked along. 

He couldn’t imagine why Severus still insisted on living on this street. Why it was so important that he lived in downtown London amongst the now empty apartments that had once been filled with muggles. He had once said that he had some attachment to it, he refused to explain further than that and Draco had not questioned further. 

More evidence of the war lay strewn on about the streets as Draco stopped in front of the only apartment that looked even slightly kept. He sighed before he reached out and turned the knob on the door. 

With a soft creek that came from months of unuse the door swung inward. The hallway lay in darkness and Draco took a step then another into the apartment.

“Severus?” Draco called into the quiet darkness. It was possible that he had still yet to return from Hogwarts. Voldemort did not do anything now without consulting Severus. He had certainly earned the favor of the Dark Lord and in turn had made sure that favor also reflected well on Draco Malfoy, his ward. 

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had died three years ago, right after the start of the war. 

There was no answer from within the apartment as Draco walked down the empty hallway, no photos or paintings lined the way, only deep emerald green wallpaper. He turned and stepped into the small sitting room. Bookshelves covered every spare corner and wall of this room, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. Hundreds and hundreds of books decorated the small space, towering up higher than he could reach. The room reminded him of his home, of the library that had been back at the manor. 

With a heavy sigh, Draco reached into his pocket and grabbed his wand, a flick of his wrist had a large roaring fire appearing in the fireplace. He threw his briefcase onto one of the tall wingback armchairs and reached up to undo the clasps of his black cloak. He set it down on the same wingback chair that had his briefcase. 

He walked around the room and into the kitchen as he un buttoned the top button of his dress shirt and pulled out his cufflinks, shoving them in his pockets. Careful to cuff his shirt over the sensitive skin of his forearm. Draco didn’t let himself think about the black ink that swirled on his skin. He would have time to do that later, after he had talked with Severus and retired to bed. 

He had not been the only one to receive their mark today, several of his classmates had also received theirs; including Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Bolstrom. Pansy had wanted to get her mark as well but the Dark Lord had told her no. No one questioned why, no one ever questioned the Dark Lord’s intentions. 

The kitchen was small, like the sitting room. It lacked the warmth that one would suspect would come from a room named kitchen. More potions had been brewed in this room than food had been made. It was probably more accurate to call it a potions room rather than the kitchen. 

Lining all the windows were potted plants and herbs. But the pantry held several cobwebs, nothing more than the barest of crumbs littered the dusty shelves. Further proof of what Draco had thought. 

“Bitty,” whispered Draco. A loud pop sounded on his left and a small, wrinkled house elf wearing a dirty tea cozy appeared next to him. 

“Master Draco!” The elf’s voice quivered in shock. She pulled at her ears as she stared up at Draco, obviously seconds away from punishing herself. “Bitty is suprised, Master Draco is nots supposed to return for another week.”

“Just get me some food.” Draco waved a hand dismissively as he walked back out of the room and into the sitting room again. “And some tea!” He called back to the house elf as sat down on the long couch that took up most of the space in the small room. There was the sharp pop of the house elf disapparating, and then silence filled the house once more. Other than the soft crackling that came from the logs of the fire, Draco could almost find peace in the quiet. 

He refused to let himself think about the day, continuing to tell himself that there would be plenty of time to think once he was alone in his room for the night. 

For now he just wanted to let his brain be filled with the same silence that pulled from the dark recesses of the empty apartment. Let it envelop him as he tipped his head back and tried not to think. 

C’mon Draco, he thought to himself. He was better than this. If Severus saw him right now he was sure that the man who had become like a father to him would have given him a sharp smack to the back of the head for being so unable to clear his head and resolve his mind to clear waters. He could almost hear the man’s words, “There is no excuse for letting your walls down, it’s reckless and weak.” 

Instead he remembered the day he had come to this sad excuse for a home. 

He had just turned fifteen, Snape had his hand on Draco’s shoulder as he led him down that empty dark hallway and into the same sitting room. He remembered being surrounded by books had comforted him, had helped him, pushed the tears he had suppressed further down. Snape had him sit on the same couch he now laid on and sat in the tall wingback chair diagonal him before staring into his eyes. 

“Do you know occlumency?” He had asked. His black eyes, glinting orange in the firelight. His back so straight as his hands rested on the arms of the chairs. His nose hooked downward, pulling over his top lip as he glared down at Draco. Black locks of stringy hair fell around his cheeks. Jagged ends as if someone had haphazardly just chopped at his hair until it was the same length as his chin. 

“No, sir.” Replied Draco. 

“You will learn. Now.” The words were sharp and unforgiving. 

That had been the extent of their conversation for the first week that Draco stayed with Snape. He picked out his own room and slept there, coming down for meals and occlumency lessons after lunch. The lessons consisted of Draco clearing his mind for an hour every day. He would sit in front of the fireplace and close his eyes, his mind working on calming the flames, of controlling the flames as they licked and flickered and tried to burst from his grasp. 

But the empty sadness that had been in his heart when he first came to the small apartment quickly gave way to a far more destructive emotion. One that was more akin to the flames he tried to calm everyday in his mind. Anger boiled over, burning everything in his mind that was weak or empty. 

The Order of the Phoenix is what they were called, those that had murdered his parents. He was going to see them pay one day, he was going to destroy them. 

After a week had passed, Snape handed him a book. His only words had been “Read this, it will help.” 

They didn’t speak to each other. Draco was content with his books and his fire. The time passed in the similar quiet that Draco was now surrounded with as he sat once more on the couch and tried to wrestle the flames in his mind into obedience. 

Finally after a month he had spoken up in the middle of his lesson, Snape had sat reading in the same chair he always did. He glanced up over the top of the book as Draco burst into the quiet. “It’s not even helping. Why must I do this?!” 

“Control,” was Snape’s single word response. When Draco did not go back to his lesson and instead stayed standing and staring at Snape across the room, he finally replied with more. He closed his book, setting it on his knee as he kept one finger in the pages, marking his spot. “You feel out of control. You feel yourself spiraling downward. Occlumency will give you back your control. Only weak people allow for their emotions to control them and not the other way around.” 

Draco could tell that was all Snape intended to say because he opened back up his book and continued to read. His face hidden behind the pages.

With a huff Draco turned back around and sat back in front of the fire. More determined to shape and control the flames of his mind. 

More weeks passed by as Draco struggled to control the raging inferno that was his grief. Slowly he worked through stage after stage until the flames obeyed him. 

That was only the first thing that Severus Snape taught Draco Malfoy. 

The familiar pop of Bitty beside him forced Malfoy’s eyes open from his memory. She had a tray of sandwiches and a small kettle and teacup laid out on the coffee table in front of Draco. 

“Does Master want anything else?” Asked Bitty hopefully. 

“Severus should be back tonight as well,” Draco muttered. He grasped the kettle and started to pour his tea into the cup. “Prepare dinner for two.” 

“Yes Sir.” Squeaked Bitty before she popped out of the room. 

Draco stared at the fire as he brought the small teacup and saucer to himself. He did not drink anything with his tea, no sugar, no cream. He found that the sharp tart taste was preferable to any sort of thick sweet drink. 

It had taken him a full year to call Severus anything other than Professor Snape. Finally they had both settled on a first name basis. But sometimes when Snape became cross he still referred to Draco as Malfoy. Still reverted to the angry school teacher he had originally been to Draco. 

But no longer. Not just because Snape did not teach potions anymore, instead he was the headmaster of Hogwarts. Now Severus was much more than just a professor to Draco. He was the father figure that Draco had needed to steady himself in the past years. He had needed that firm hand to push him. 

He tried once again to let his mind wander to peaceful calm, he closed his eyes and allowed the mental flames of his mind to wrap around him, slowly calming them and shaping them. Against his will, Draco’s mind wandered to his day. It had been too exhausting, he would let his emotions run through the day. Just until Severus returned. 

Draco had woken in his dormitory for the last time, the thought had made his skin prickle in excitement as he jumped out of bed and waved his wand, all of his belongings fitting into the compact briefcase at the end of his bed. He had placed an extension charm on the case in his sixth year once he had grown tired of lugging his trunk back and forth down the cobblestone alleyway that led to and from Severus’ home. 

Today was the day he would be able to take his place as one of the elite. He had asked the Dark Lord to give him the mark in his fifth year, but it seemed that the Dark Lord had no reason to bestow the mark on someone who was confined to Hogwarts nine months out of the year.

The ceremony was taking place as soon as the rest of the students were on the Hogwarts Express. He and the others that were to receive their marks were gathered in the Great Hall. First they were gifted with their cloaks and masks. Once they had donned those, the Dark Lord stood from his throne that perched where the teachers table had once sat. Around the walls stood all of the other Elite Death Eaters. Only those marked were allowed to witness the ceremony. 

Behind him the large window panes of the Great Hall darkened, as if the hall sensed what was about to happen. Draco glanced up to where the candles floated amongst the enchanted ceiling. None of them were lit. As if Hogwarts itself was in protest of the dark magic that now permeated its halls. 

Slowly, Voldemort crept toward the five people ready to take their mark. His large snake Nagini trailed after him, slithering over the steps down the dias and onto the floor around Voldemort’s feet. As one they all swept to one knee and bared their left arms, their sleeves rolled up to show the bare skin. 

The Dark Lord’s pale arm swept out from behind his robes and bared his bone white wand. “You are all to be selected as the elite, one of those chosen to bear my mark. Always wear my mark with pride and reverence.” 

Voldemort started with the person furthest to the left, who happened to be Crabbe. Voldemort grabbed Crabbe’s arm with his claw like fingers. He pulled it forward to himself as he raised his wand and then pressed it down into Crabbe’s arm. He tensed, his whole body going ridigid as he endured the burning sensation of the mark. The Dark Lord pushed his wand into the skin, finally ink seemed to leak from his wand into Crabbe’s skin. He relaxed once Voldemort pulled his wand away, the ink under his skin shifted and moved until it had the shape of the Dark mark imprinted on his skin. 

Voldemort moved to the next person and the next. He finally came up to Draco. He paused, staring down at Draco’s eyes through his mask. “You’re parent’s made a great sacrifice Draco, but they always wore their marks with pride. I hope that you do the same.”

“Yes my lord.” Replied Draco as he bowed his head, allowing Voldemort to take his arm, fingernails curling into his skin almost to the point that it hurt. “I will take revenge for my parent’s death.” The words were more than just a proclamation. They were a promise, in front of the Dark Lord and everyone else in attendance. 

Near the dias, Draco could just make out the frazzled curls of his aunt’s hair from the corner of his eye. Then Voldemort’s wand tip touched Draco’s forearm. 

It truly was as if he was being set on fire. His limbs and nerves burned, igniting as he locked his muscles to keep perfectly still. He would not embarrass the Dark Lord by giving into the weakness of pain as he received his mark. 

Finally after what felt like an eternity of pain, Voldemort’s wand lifted from where it had pressed into Draco’s skin. He stared at the black that marred his pale skin, his fist clenched, the veins in his arm popping to the top of his skin. Distorting the image that would stay with him for the rest of his life. He relaxed his fist and the image returned to its perfect glory. 

Draco placed his arm at his side as he waited for the last person to receive their mark. His arm still prickled as if being poked with thousands of tiny needles over where his mark now lay. 

Once they were finished, Voldemort beckoned to Nott before dismissing the rest of the newly marked. 

Draco didn’t waste any time standing and walking out of the hall. His head held high as he walked into the gloomy front hall and down onto the steps.

“Draco.” Came the familiar hiss of his aunt’s voice from behind him. He slowed his pace so that his aunt could catch up to him. “You are now grown. Severus can not keep you locked up any longer.” 

He was careful to check on all of his mental walls before stopping and turning to face Bellatrix. “Severus did not keep me locked up. We both know that Severus was fulfilling his vow to my mother.” Draco continued walking, toward the bridge. He removed his mask, placing it in his deep cloak pocket. 

“It is time to resume your training.” She hissed. Her voice was trailing behind Draco. He knew what kind of training Bellatrix offered. The end of summer of his fifth year Severus had allowed Draco to visit his aunt for a week for training. She spent the first day performing the cruciatus curse on Draco. For minutes at a time with only minutes of reprieve. She had said that it was necessary, he must know the type of pain he was inflicting on his victims to truly cast the cruciatus curse. 

She continued to torture him all week. But the second day she brought him a cat, a brown orange tabby that hissed at him when it got close. He was to torture it. He was to torture it and eventually he was to kill it. 

On the fifth day, Bellatrix said she had a surprise for him. She took him down to the dungeons where he came face to face with a tuft of brown shaggy hair. His pudgy face and large gave him away even if Draco hadn’t known him from school. “Longbottom.” 

“Malfoy.” Came the reply. Longbottom looked horrible. Filthy from head to toe and one of his arms was already hanging at an odd angle away from his body. 

Draco stopped the flashback short. He did not need to think about that right now. “I had plenty of training here at Hogwarts. The Carrow siblings made sure of that.” The Carrows had done similar things as Bellatrix. He had become quite adept at casting the cruciatus curse on his fell classmates, and even friends when it was commanded of him. He didn’t have a choice. The only options were to survive long enough to get revenge or die. 

“There are spells that only I can teach you. Come to the Lestrange Manor.” 

“Aunt Bellatrix, you have many commitments to the Dark Lord, aren’t you supposed to be leading a raid on Spain later this week? How long will that take you? Days? Weeks?” Draco stopped in his tracks and faced Bellatrix. His superior height gave him the advantage of looking down at her as he spoke.

“When you are ready to stop hiding behind Severus’ cloak, come and we will take revenge on your parent’s deaths.” Bellatrix words struck him and seeped into his mind. She-

The sound of the door creaking open pulled Draco out of his thoughts and back to the present. Severus was finally home from whatever had kept him from returning sooner. 

Draco snapped his walls into place, his mind quick to calm the fiery thoughts of his mind as he turned to the door, waiting for Severus to step into the frame. He placed the saucer and teacup back down on the coffee table, his mannerism lessons from when he was younger kicking in subconsciously. 

Severus’ steps trailed down the hall until he was lit by the now dwindling flames in the fireplace. His long black robes were glistening in the light, as if they were wet with some dark thick liquid. 

“Bitty is making dinner.” Remarked Draco as he gave a nod to Severus. Then the smell hit him. The sharp copper tinge that Draco knew could only be blood. 

Severus nodded before turning toward the small staircase that was almost hidden along the hallway. 

“Is the blood yours?” Asked Draco, not quite able to help himself. 

“No.” Was all Severus replied. Just one of his simple one word replies that Draco was ever so familiar with. No explanation or reason. Just no. 

Dinner passed in their usual quiet. The sound of their forks scraping against the plates filled the quiet and kept it from complete silence. That was until Severus set down his utensils and spoke to Draco. 

“The Dark Lord has a task for you.” 

Draco’s hands froze, one poised to bring his fork to his mouth, the other resting his wrist on the edge of the table, clutching his knife in his hand tightly. 

Severus continued, “He wants you to report to Dwalish and Greyback. They will be doing some home raids and you will join them.” 

Draco continued to eat, swallowing before he spoke again, “What are these raids for?” 

“Illegal contraband, undesirables, to remind the people that Voldemort is in control.”

Draco nodded his understanding. He had known that when he got his mark he was going to be at the bottom of the proverbial food chain. But Greyback was no better than a common dog. Always seeking approval and a bone from his master. And having to answer to that thing seemed beneath him. Dwalish was no better, the man was barely intelligent enough to know which end of his wand to hold. He had been hit by a particularly bad memory charm the year before. If Draco was going to be going with them, there was very little chance that anything could or would happen. 

Draco still accepted the command. It had after all come from the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord was not to be disobeyed. 

After the meal, Draco grabbed his briefcase before he walked up to his bedroom. Up the narrow stairs and down the hall. Past all the other closed doors and rooms. The last one on the left. He reached out his arm, forgetting momentarily about the stinging mark, and hissed as his robes rubbed over the skin. 

His hand reached out, grasping at his elbow. Gripping so tight he hoped he would cut off circulation or at least the nerves that were sending pain up into his brain. 

“Bloody hell.” He opened his door and walked in shaking his arm as he stepped into his room. 

Like the kitchen, this room was named his although there was hardly a scrap of anything in it that was his. The room looked as if it hadn’t been used in years. Black curtains hung against the large window that looked out to nothing other than a large wall. Against one of the walls was a twin size bed covered in slytherin green covers. A desk sat against the same wall, completely empty except for a small picture frame. Inside the frame a father stood behind his wife and son. All of whom sat stiff and bored, on a continual loop that hardly seemed to move. Their blonde hair was a stark difference from the deep black that they all wore. On the opposite side was the fireplace and a large wardrobe. The wood was stained so dark that it looked black in all but the brightest light. 

Draco pulled out his wand and flicked it toward the fireplace as large flames lept out of the logs. He set his briefcase on the desk, not bothering to open it yet. 

He had been warned by Severus how much the mark would hurt when he first got it. The dark magic would need time to seep into his skin and take true effect. Severus had said that the feeling of being summoned by the Dark Lord was similar. The stinging burning sensation.

He sat down on his bed, laying his left forearm out in front of him, resting on his thigh. He looked across the room at the last and only picture he had of his parents, everything else was destroyed. His fist clenched, his nails dug into the skin of his palm. The stabbing pain of his nails combated with the sticking pain of his mark and the burning resolution in his chest. 

Draco whispered to the empty room. To the frame on his desk, as if they could hear him. “With this I’m one step closer to avenging your deaths.”


End file.
